Turn to Stone
by TheTBone
Summary: "Speeding but frozen, racing with friction in a blizzard of flurry." Rosalie's thoughts, feelings, and experiences during the end of her human life and the beginning of her vampire existence. Songfic/Oneshot. Pre-Twilight.


**I suggest listening to the song in this songfic "Turn to Stone" by Ingrid Michaelson, as to which the song is based. I do not own Twilight or "Turn to Stone," although I'd seriously enjoy doing so. **

_Let's take a better look_

She was content with her life. She thought she was happy. She was convinced she had everything anyone could possibly ever want. Set in the mindset nothing could be better. Her outward appearances had gotten her far; she was standing on the top of the world and sitting next to her king, her Royce King. A thrilled, wealthy girl, eager for the rest of her life, of the divine life of marriage and motherhood. The excitement and ride of aging; experiencing the adult, socialite world of having a partner to support her financially. _  
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_Beyond a story book _

But his throne always a little higher, his comments always a little sharper, his mind always a little more right and intelligent than hers. Her fair skin contrasting her unfair situation. Her ignored dilemma covering the blemish of fate. In love with the idea of it all, naïve to the realities of the long-term effects. A quick solution to the burning desire, hopping right on the journey without taking the precaution of locking her heart. Not that she'd have a choice. But she still should've seen. Should've looked in order to see what was right in front of her. Not bothering to try and change her destiny. To frightened and spontaneous to even make an effort. _  
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_And learn our souls are all we own _

The lesson she could trust only herself came too late. Too late and too quickly to comprehend. It all happened so fast, too fast, and yet to slow. Speeding but frozen, racing with friction in a blizzard and flurry. Initial thinking betrayed her, cutting her deeply, her literal and figurative heart, the organ and emotion ripped and slitted on that night on the sidewalk by the rode. Quickly grabbed and tossed, nothing more than a rag doll to the sadistic man meant to be her spouse. Pain, sorrow, embarrassment, shame, overwhelming emotions strangling her on the asphaltic road. Her fingernails ripping and digging into the pavement, her lying there begging for the end to be near. It was much too much to bear, to much burden for her beautiful, unconscious, humiliated body. _  
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_Before we turn to stone _

Unusual pricks in her throat. Familiar in only the dark soreness, the newly discovered sting of anguish and grief for the realization it was never love in the first place, but only a trophy to impress his monstrous friends. A prize for her parents who never cared, only wanting to social climb and hang for their own personal gain. Never romantics. Never minding or heeding. Raising her like a pig to be slaughtered later, reaping the benefits of their offspring. Thoughts rushing, tardy thoughts, she blamed herself. The pricking now turning into burning, she pleaded for the forces to take her already, not caring where she would go afterwards, just wanting to pass from this life. She was done and welcomed a change. Her screaming the people around her changing but blending, the figures chameleons of treachery, not knowing if it was a hallucination of life or limbo, just hoping it would cease soon. And then, blackness. __

_Let's go to sleep with clearer heads _

It never subsided. The pain didn't stop even in the colorless world she was in. Shifting in and out of whatever she was in the intense agony, her body tingling with the pain of a body part falling asleep magnified, her stomach cramping, head screaming and being beat with an iron, punishing fist, her throat barbed wire, cutting and slicing and matches being thrown into the fire of pain. Something was happening. Done trying to figure out what was going on in the daze, just focusing on extreme, concentrated prayer that this would end. It was going on forever. She hated the helplessness she was feeling, vulgar at the vulnerability. She'd felt it more lately than she had her entire life. Feeble, but refusing to submit defeat and this throb anymore, charging and fighting, not seeing the finish line but determining to make it there as quickly as possible. She wouldn't give up. The destination must come eventually. Wrestling her injuries, she fought on. _  
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_And hearts to big to fit our beds _

In the midst of all of this she could feel other things, albeit very faint, anything besides pain near impossibly to concentrate on. She could feel strong arms lifting her. She couldn't believe this. Why couldn't they just leave her to die in peace? Didn't she deserve at least the last few moments in peace? Her dying wish was to stay isolated. She didn't want people seeing her like this, not even for the pity. But the moment she was in the strong arms, she felt a difference, the vibes somehow more peaceful, but cold. Cold shifting to warmth under feather, light, gentle, familiar mattress and sheet. She might sleep. It was an option now, though she was still surrounded by unimaginable beating sensations, torture coming from all sides, it was at least the tiniest luxury. From under her lids she could see light now, the dark night replaced with lights. Light was a sign of purity and peace, right? She wanted to grin. Her thoughts at relief quickly shattered, though, when she remembered she was not pure. Not clean. She squirmed, thinking that this might last forever. Could she possibly be doomed because of what had happened? But that wasn't fair! It wasn't her fault! She wanted to be good. She writhed and twisted around, ignoring her body. This couldn't go on. It was a mistake. Her vision was still hazy, she was virtually blind, her eyes cloudy. When she managed with the last of her might to fidget and struggle to her legs, she was quickly bogged down again by the earlier man. She gave up. Her stubbornness had to surrender, because she had nothing left. Numbness filled her, and she could swear she heard faint whispers. _  
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_And maybe we won't feel so alone _

Within the next while the pain faded slowly. Her vision became clearer, not just clearer than earlier but clearer than ever. She opened her eyes and was in a room. It was plain and spacious and blank. Could this be heaven after all? It was spotless and vacant except for the bed she was on, a desk, and a chest with a shiny substance above. It was a mirror, an old friend. She could always count on her beauty in the old days. But her beauty had been a curse. Her greatest weapon had failed her. She walked over to the reflexive square. She was more exquisite than ever. Her blond hair even shinier, lips even poutier, skin clearer and cheekbones more prominent. She forgot at the moment of the betrayal of her pretty face, and basked in the glory. She was anxious to examine her crystal blue eyes before she was taken aback by her translucently pale, and the scariest feature of all. An eerie combination of crimson and ruby dotted with jet-black circular beads shone back. She stopped and she could only focus on what she'd become. She was scared of her reflection, she was scared of the blazing flame in her throat, she was scared of the consequences of what she'd done, she was scared of what she'd become.

_Before we turn to stone _

They'd come back and tried to break the news gently. The breaking of the news resulted in a breaking of the mirror. The man told her what she was, what he was, what his companion was and what his so-called son was, and she'd taken her fist to the glass. She wanted to believe it was a nightmare, but the supernatural didn't seem so odd anymore, she had a peculiar feeling that this was no run of imagination, being so vivid, and as much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn't pretend this was a dream anymore. She'd never wanted this. She didn't want to be this beast that she was. This creature was horrid and capable and she loathed it, even more so when being told the limitations of not eating, sleeping, and the killer, bearing children. She passed it off as hate and anger, but the truth was much more than that. Her exterior and instinct told her to be defensive; if she was tough no one could hurt her because no one would want her. In all honesty she was frightened by the men's presence and not comforted with the woman's. Seeing as there was only a boy there with no consort accompanying him she knew their motives for doing what they did. They'd used her like everyone else. She was reminded of her parents urging her to couple, and she wouldn't let it happen again. She didn't know where she'd go, but that didn't stop her. She figured if she could bust the mirror with ease, windows would be no different. And with the swing of her arm, she escaped. __

_And if you wait for someone else's hand _

Instinct led the way beyond that point. She crushed the glass and didn't look back. She ran. She ran faster than she ever could before. Not that she'd tried often, that was certainly unladylike. And she was sure what she was about to do would be considered outside the manners. Screw manners, she thought, or rather didn't think because the senses were doing all the work. She sniffed, and pounced, and wandered quickly, ravaging. Savaging. She would get revenge. They would pay for what they did to her. And it happened quickly and yet in slow motion. In slow motion she ran and before she knew it she massacred. She busted into each and every one of their rooms, eager to get to Royce. She put on that wedding dress she had picked out, ironic and showing him what he'd done. She sunk her teeth deep, but restrained herself, getting a hold of instincts. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't sink as low as to ingest. She would never give him the satisfaction of having more of him inside her. Never again. _  
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_And you will surely fall down _

She thought she would feel a relief. Surely this should feel wonderful, triumphant, the power finally belonging to her. He was finished and he would never walk in this town again. He'd paid for what he did to her. She should feel as it she had the upper hand, the authority, and the rule. He deserved to feel what she felt; he needed to understand what he'd done to her…right? Instead she felt hollow, and empty, and murderous, but she didn't regret it. It was a weird, hasty, nasty mix, and after that she wandered, not wanting to think anymore, not wanting to know and face the fact of what she'd just done. He was lifeless, but so was she. He'd stolen her innocence in more ways than one. She roamed back to the Cullen house, not wanting to, but rationally seeing no other option. She had to. What else was she to do? Once again she was trapped by others, locked inside her own mind by other people.

_And if you wait for someone else's hand _

Mixes. Odd mixes of emotions confronted her as she strolled through the front door of where she'd supposedly stay. She knew they knew what she'd done, and she couldn't be sure what would happen. Wasn't that normal considering the species? Somehow she didn't think so considering what she'd saw earlier. She suspicions were confirmed when she saw their faces. The boy, Edward, she remembered, sent her a glare and shook his head. She growled and had the urge to pounce on him. He didn't understand. He couldn't possibly. No matter how much he tried, which she was doubtful he would even with his stupid mind-reading ability, he would never comprehend how it feels to feel that powerless. Wanting so badly to leave but not being physically able. Trusting someone, and them turning their back on you in the worst possible way. And the other man, Carlisle, a little more understanding, but still faint shame rimming his golden eyes. It was the same, though, he couldn't possibly grasp. Esme, the only woman, she could see a 180. There was a small sense of…was it pride? Pity? She couldn't place it. She didn't get it though. No one ever could. She walked upstairs to be alone, to be with the person who could really emphasize: herself._  
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_You'll fall _

Loneliness is great at first. You don't have to answer to anyone, you're not pressured or forced into trust; don't have to be responsible for tracking and caring for others' feelings. But with being alone comes being empty. With no contact there is no substance. And so she sank. She sank in confusion and despair and anger and bitterness. She broke and yielded. The dam of sadness and fear, something she swore she'd never show again, she let break. She lie purposeless and broken. _  
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_You'll fall _

The silence enhanced only slightly by barely audible whispers coming from down the stairs. She could hear a sigh and a stomping out the door, childish reactions to whom she guessed belonged to Edward. She could hear a reassuring man voice and a concerned woman tone, but they weren't fighting. There was no violence or dominance, only speaking. Equality. For only a moment she let herself pretend she was at home, a little girl, her parents whispering in the night when they thought she was tucked into bed in her nightgown, flirting and mumbling about her well-being. Of course, she snapped herself out of the fantasy quickly so that she may not become upset again. She attempted to follow the actual conversation. The woman being persistent and the man finally sighed and nodded and pecking her on the cheek, she supposed. Heavy footsteps, mature ones this time, walked outside as well, leaving the house bare and quiet for a few minutes until she heard small, flitting footsteps walking upwards and a diminutive tap on the door. Not expecting company, she quickly tried to stand and comb her hair before meeting the person on the other side of the door, in case her beauty could possibly buy out of any trouble she might be in. But the figure didn't wait, and joined her at will. __

_I know that I am nothing new _

She was glad it was no male prancing in, that would have been too difficult, especially in her state with her guard and defense all the way down. She could not possibly handle anymore bullying by the opposite, dominant gender. She was simply not prepared to fight right now. When Esme walked through the door she held an expression much like the one in the living room a tad earlier. Rosalie stood shakily, unsure of her place. She was not clean, blood and dirt covering her, her hair in knots and her eyes sad. She was unpresentable, and her mother would be ashamed. Rosalie stood there, looking in her eyes, surprising understanding even on a monster of a creature. Rosalie apologized for feeling sorry for herself, admonishing herself for forgetting she was not the only one that felt heartbreak, and that others go and went through the same; automatically knowing that Esme had gone through something similar, already knowing the signs and brandings of the horrors. Esme somehow knew she knew, a connection neither could describe, just having a conversation with their eyes, Esme simply standing there and offering support that way for everything, afraid the girl might break with touch, though she desperately wanted to reach out and heal. _  
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_There's so much more than me and you _

She cut her off immediately, when Rosalie stumbled over the words that she was sorry for feeling this way. Esme scolded her gently for feeling bad for expressing the way she felt. Rosalie tried to contour this by reminding her of what she herself had been through, though she didn't know the specifics, but when she tried this was gently hushed and encourage to let go. The slightly older woman with the light brown hair attempted to sooth the flighty younger woman, her attitude irrational for someone who'd been through what she did and how she did it. Rose soon feel to her knees, babbling about being despicable because of her reaction, her strength could not hold her up. Esme rushed over to her and held her as she spoke, placing a placid hand on her forehead and rubbing her back, she continued to keep distance with only a speck of contact, not wanting to scare her any more, but not being able to hold back from the sad, lost girl any longer. _  
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_But brother how we must atone _

Esme calmed her, telling her she understood her dilemma, reassuring her that what she did was perfectly natural for vampires and a woman scorned. She told her she was brave and that she was courageous. Rosalie simply there, listening and feeling uncomfortable with the various strokes and pats, but felt it rude to pull away. In addition to manners, it wasn't absolutely intolerable. Uncomfortable and awkward, sure, but insufferable and horrendous, no. She voiced her fears and anger towards being set up and having no choice, while Esme just listened. That's what Rosalie liked the most about the encounter, the fact that someone just listened. They didn't try and give unwanted advice or judgment, and besides the obvious sympathy in her eyes there was no mercy being shoved down her throat to make her feel bad for making others feel bad for her. They were together and submissive, and she was like a mentor. Esme was different, she was an actual mother. Not biologically, but mentally and in all ways that mattered. _  
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_Before we turn to stone _

It hurt again to think, worse that physical pain, that inevitable fact that she would never bear children of her own. Her biggest dream crushed, and it was worse than the longing in her throat, this fact the only thing really making her crazy. __

_Brother how we must atone _

When Rosalie was done speaking, Esme had a turn. She explained she had freedom. They saved her not because of Edward, though it would be nice it would most definitely not be forced, and that she was absolutely capable to do as she pleased. She may wander and come back anytime, and Rose didn't let the look of faint sadness in Esme's eyes as she spoke of this, and she noticed the obvious happiness as she spoke of her staying and joining the family, and how she would be treated like a part of the family no matter what. Rosalie nodded, and pondered although in the back of her mind it was no question. People like she and Esme had to stick together and bind through experience in order to move past. They had to speak of the unease in order to heal. The scars would always be there, but simply being in her presence would be like therapy. The wounds would begin to heal, and she nodded.

_Before we turn to stone _

She was still a Sasquatch. She was not fixed by any means. There was still so long to go, such a very long road left to take. Looking in the mirror there was still something off, because she couldn't possibly physically move forward, and he was still cynical about it…

_Before we turn to stone_

…but for now, in her new life, she was content.

**It's an absolutely breathtakingly beautiful song, and for some reason it made me think of Rosalie, and of course I had to include a little mother/daughter part with Esme at the end, since she's my favorite, but I think it fits, and find it odd we don't get more of these two since their pasts are rather similar. First songfic and I hope you enjoy. I really hope I didn't completely mess this up, since I thought the song and subject fit so well… Reviews and feedback of any sort would be most appreciated. Thank you for reading. =)**


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